Hoping For the Day of Acceptance
by Take Your Sweet Time
Summary: Rachel Elizabeth Dare isn't accepted well in the Dare household because she doesn't behave "lady-like". But how did Rachel achieve to be this way? Will her parents ever learn to accept her? I guess you'll have to find out.


**I hope you like it!**

* * *

Hoping For the Day of Acceptance

* * *

"Flow with whatever may happen and let your mind be free. Stay centered by accepting whatever you are doing. This is the ultimate."

~Zhuangzi

* * *

Rachel ran through the forest as her red, frizzy, curly, red hair flowed in the soft breeze of the wind. She wore a white cotton shirt, army styled cargo pants, and was barefoot.

She ran and ran and occasionally stopped to look at her small feet that were sometimes decorated with small splinters that pierced her skin to be later removed.

"What are you doing here, Wildflower?" her grandfather asked a four-year-old Rachel.

Her green eyes met her grandfather's aqua-like ones as he displayed a huge smile that viewed his yellow crooked teeth. Her grandfather was tall with a thin frame, a curly grayish beard that made him look like Santa Claus, an arched nose, slightly wrinkled skin, long mousy-brown hair that cascaded to his shoulders where the roots were becoming gray, and a golden-brown skin color that was obtained during his youthful years of being without sunscreen. For his apparel, he wore baggy velvet pants, a rainbow colored shirt, and a black headband with a white feather around his forehead.

"I'm running like Speedy Gonzalez!" Rachel exclaimed with her green eyes wide open. She looked like she ate a bucket of sugar and was going insane from all the sugar in her system.

"It's nice seeing you connecting with nature. Did you see those birds chirping a while ago? You didn't step on that poisonous bush, right? Your parents are gonna kill me if they find out you stepped on that bush, and your daddy is gonna be giving me a lecture on that's why I hardly babysit you." He laughed.

"Yeah, I know it's great because momma and papa never let me out in the woods. What bird? No, I don't think that I stepped on the bush because wouldn't I be itchy by now? But I love spending time you, Grampy!" she enthusiastically said towards the end.

"I know. Wanna go for a walk?" he asked as he patted his front pockets as he searched for something.

"Yeah," Rachel agreed.

Together, she and her grandfather walked deeper and deeper into the forest.

They were in Wallowa-Whitman National Forest located in Oregon. The forest was a large, uneven, grassland landscape with pine trees, mountain spruce trees, mountain hemlocks, mountains with Alpine tundras, many types of wildflowers, and creeks and rivers.

Rachel heard birds chirped from a distance and the crackling sounds of branches breaking from underneath her small feet. She kept walking and then spotted a river and ran towards it.

The river was large with trees and bushes at the banks of the river, huge boulders in the water that made a path to cross the other side.

"Wow! Look at the river. The water of the river is very blue that I can almost drink it, but I know water from the river is bad," she said, pouting.

"I know, right? Too bad your daddy wants to buy the land to turn it into a mall. Why you need a mall for? Clothes? Go to Goodwill and buy some clothes, top of the line," her grandfather said in disgust. He took out a roll of something, Rachel didn't knew what it was, and lit it up; the only thing she knew was that it wasn't a cigarette because she was well aware of it from her dad; also, the scent began to make her feel dizzy.

"Why?" she asked.

"Your daddy likes killing nature."

"Why?"

"It's all about the money. Money. That is the one thing that man now strives for nowadays. We should be worrying about world peace and how to conserve the environment. What happened living off the land, man? I don't know, but that's not the way I raised him." He puffed in his roll and released the smoke.

"What can we do about it?" she asked concerned. Her eyebrows furrowed together because she didn't understand why her daddy was going to kill something very pretty.

Her grandfather looked down on her and gave a big smile. "Come." He walked to a clear bank of the river and sat down, and he patted the spot next to him. "You see those otters?" he asked as he pointed to a group of river otters wrestling with one another.

"Yeah?" she said confused, not knowing where her grandfather was going with this.

"River otters stick together and help one another. Now, at the other side, are beavers building a dam. The beavers help each other to construct a dam so they can keep water in and for protection against predators. The beavers help the river otters by digging holes in the ground that the momma otters use so she can have her babies."

"Then what do the otters do?" she curiously asked.

"The otters help for lookout against bigger predators; they can make a loud noise to tell the others that they are in danger."

"Oh."

"The otters and beavers are two different animals, but they help each other and don't know that. If animals can share the same place and help each other, why can't people? The only thing we do is hate each other for things that we did, but we don't learn that that was in the past and live in the present. Just accept what was done and move on." He breathed in the smoke by placing the roll between his lips, breathed it in, and breathed out. He felt relieved, then a sigh escaped his lips.

"It's a pretty view, don't you think?" he asked.

"But why can't we be like the otters and beavers? Why hate? Is it something like me hating it when we do wet willies to me?"

"Something like that," he chuckled, laying down on the floor with his elbows propped, "but one day, I strongly believe, peace will come. People may not accept each other based on money, looks and whatever els, but go with the flow. If we do anything to stop that hate, hate will be created more because we're going to be idiots and go to war. I'm just sad that I won't be around to see it." A sad smile appeared on his face, but Rachel couldn't see that smile clearly due to his beard. He turned to Rachel and showed his teeth to her that displayed a few missing teeth and a few yellowing teeth. She laughed.

"But I don't want you to go." Her smile disappeared.

He sat up and draped his arm around her. "I'll always be here and Rachel?"

"Yeah?"

His long tanned fingers reached out and stroke her pale freckled cheekbone.

"It's okay to let the inner weirdo out."

She laughed.

* * *

She sat in the front passenger seat of her grandfather's Volkswagen Van. The van was painted turquoise blue with splashed paint on the outside, rainbow designs painted on each car door, the Volkswagen symbol at the front of the car was replaced with a happy face symbol, and stickers with the peace sign. On the inside, two hazelnut leather row seats were in the back that were beat up and had the smell of burnt cigarettes if you pressed your nose against it, and in the front, the front seats had a soft red blanket that was draped over them. Rachel once asked why were the front seats covered, and he replied, "Oh, um, the seats are really dirty and smelly, and the smell won't come out."

She felt dirty due to the fact that her grandpa dragged her into the river, and after she got out of the river, she laid on a bank that was made of dirt.

"Gramps, I'm sticky and feel yucky. Where are we going? Are we going to get ice cream?" she asked.

"No, we aren't going to get ice cream. Remember when I told you about nature and why daddy wants to take it away?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, people fight against what your daddy is doing, wanna go see it?" he asked, he took his eyes off the road and looked at her.

"Sure, but where are we going?"

"Impatient like your father, I say." He laughed. Rachel shrugged and looked out the window. They were in the freeway as cars rapidly passed them and occasionally honked at her grandfather.

"Why do they honk at you?"

"Because I'm too cool for them."

She nodded and returned her attention out the window. Her green eyes looked up towards the sky and saw the blue sky. She stared at the sky for a while until she finally noticed that the shade of the sky became grayer.

Rachel looked at the side of the freeway and saw an oil plantation with smoke that was heavily polluting the sky above them. As they drove nearer, she smelled the scent of gasoline.

"The smoke itself kills," her grandfather said.

They finally reached their destination and drove through a small community. For a small community, Rachel was surprised to see the streets packed with parked cars. They finally parked at a side of a streets, and her grandfather took her hand and said, "Don't let go." She nodded.

They walked a couple of blocks until they finally made it to the front of a recreational forest. The forest had trees of different sizes plotted into the ground, bushes, and a dirt road as the entrance that led to the inside of the forest.

But the entrance of the forest was crowded with protesters who were t-shirt that read, 'Aren't you satisfied with killing people, now animals?' and picket signs that read, 'Don't kill the forest.'

"Glad you made it, Harold," a man said. The man was younger than her grandfather and looked to be around his early twenties. He had long, sandy blond hair, crystal blue eyes, a golden tan, chiseled cheekbones, and wore a baggy white t-shirt with baggy green pants.

"You know I wouldn't have missed it," her grandfather said. Both men greeted each other with a fist-pump and a brief hug.

"Who is she?" the man asked, squatting on the floor to Rachel's height. "What's your name?" he cheerfully asked her.

Rachel looked at her grandfather and gave him an unsure expression. "Rachel," she said, turning her green eyes back on the man.

"Nice to meet you, Rachel. My name is Dan." He held out his hand, and hesitantly, Rachel took it.

"They're coming!" a woman shouted in the distance.

Dan and her grandfather shared a knowing look on their faces as they looked at each other. "Dude, Mike, what are you doing, man?" Dan looked over Rachel's shoulder. She turned and saw a man laying on the floor, shirtless and had basketball pants on. He was short, had a potbelly, dark brown eyes, pale skin, and gray hair with a huge bald spot on the top of his head.

"What are you doing, Damiel?" the man asked, obviously under the influence since he slurred.

"I asked first. My name is Dan," Dan corrected.

"I'm just enjoying life." In his hand was a roll, like what her grandfather had earlier, but the roll wasn't being smoked yet so it showed green stuff that was wrapped around paper. "You know, life is just a waste of time if you…if you don't know how to live it. You know what I told my kids, be whatever you want because I'll still love ya. You know what one ended up being? My son ended up being a politician. The world is already messed up, and my own blood is messing that up even more." He put the roll between his lips and lit it up with a lighter.

"The 'American Dream' is a pile of dung-poop, I tell you. You cuttin' down things for 'money'. All you need is love and a bit of acceptance in this world." He let out a puff of smoke which caused Rachel to wheeze.

"I agree with you, Mike, but I can't talk right now since I got the granddaughter with me," her grandfather said.

"Good for you, Harry. I'm glad you teachin' her the good path. Do you wanna show her another good thing?" Mike patted himself down as he searched for something.

"No, she's too young to be starting like that," he said, grabbing Rachel by the shoulders; "Plus, I don't want her to end up like you," he said in a low voice so only he, Dan, and Rachel heard.

Dan laughed hard and slapped his knees. "That's funny," he said, wiping his eyes. "Let's go beat those son of a—" Dan began but was cut off when her grandfather gave him an intense glare to watch his language. "Peaches," he corrected.

"Uh-huh," he said in a stern tone as well as a stern look.

Dan handed them picket signs that read, 'Don't chop down the forest!'

Rachel didn't knew what to do with the picket so she observed what other people were doing. The people held up their picket signs as the chanted, "Don't kill the forest!" and other things. She looked at her grandfather and saw he was doing the same thing as the others.

She picked up her picket sign, held it up and started chanting. She remembered what her grandfather told her earlier about her dad, "Your daddy likes killing nature."

The more she thought about it, the more angered she was becoming. Why would people do that? she thought.

She kept protesting as she and her grandfather walked closer to the crowd.

She loved the adrenaline. She loved the reason why the protesting was made. She loved how she was making the effort for something to be prevented.

* * *

Hours after the protest, Rachel sat once more at the front passenger seat of her grandfather's van.

She was tired, her throat still felt dry after she drank a bottle of water, she was still filthy with dirt, but she was now sweaty.

Her small head leaned against the glass window, her red hair tied into a messy bun.

"Was it awesome or not?" her grandad asked her.

She nodded. "Yeah, it was awesome, but why were the cops there? Daddy told me once that the cops come when people are doing bad things."

He snorted. "Is that what he told you?" he asked in a low voice that seemed as if he spoke to himself.

"Are we going home? I want to go home. I feel dirty, and I want to take a bath with my rubber ducky. Do you feel dirty?" she asked him.

"What are you talking about? We're home." He stopped the van at the driveway as Rachel got out of the car and walked into the house.

The house was actually a mansion that was three stories high, included the upstairs basement. The mansion was made of bricks, the windows' frames were painted white, a large white balcony connected to the basement, door-sized glass windows below the balcony, and a large door as the entrance made out of oak tree.

She liked the mansion, but she thought it was too big for three people to live in, not including the maid and butler. She preferred her grandfather's home that was in California because it was small and it looked pretty with its green lawn, painted yellow on the outside, a small porch with lanterns, and small windows.

Rachel walked to the front door, opened it, and walked in. She was introduced with the sweet fragrance of chicken in the oven, and the sound of plates that came from the kitchen.

The inside of the mansion had laminated Brazilian cherry hardwood flooring, carnelian dragon painted walls, a white staircase with white painted steps, two wide doors from across each other with one being the living room and the other entertainment room for guests.

The sound of laughter appeared, and she heard her father say, "Wonderful story, Paul." Her small feet made sounds as she walked towards the dining area, which was past the staircase, and her green eyes shyly peered into the room. A man with creamy white skin, an arched nose, thin-framed round glasses, bald, a small scruff of hair on his chin, and he wore a navy blue suit with a dark green tie.

"Rachel, dear, where have you been? Where is your grandfather?" her mother asked her. She wore a sleeveless, champagne pink dress that went to her knees, beige colored heels, and her light blonde hair was tied into a neat bun.

She smiled. "I think he's outside. Why do we have a guest for a dinner? Will he stay with us for long? Will I have I leave because daddy has to talk 'big kids issues with him' like with the other man? Why does mommy stay? Is that work because mommy doesn't work at all?" Rachel started ranting.

"Rachel," her father sternly said, "be nice and have a seat."

"Fine," she said and went to take a seat next to her mom.

The Dining Room was large with a maple rectangular table decorated with potted plants, a chandelier that hung on the ceiling, orange-red painted walls, and expensive paintings hung on the walls.

Her father sat at the head of the table with Rachel's mom to the right and Paul to the left.

"Where the egg nog is my son?" Rachel heard her grandfather say as he entered the room followed by the maid.

"Dad," Mr. Dare said. He stood up and smoothed his rusty red hair with his fingers. He wore a jet black suit, a sea-green tie, gold cuffs, and a white dress shirt. "Have a seat," he said as he gave his father a pleading expression to not speak during the entire dinner.

Her grandfather took a seat besides Paul and gave his son a raised eyebrow that seemed to say, 'Good luck with that, old timer."

"Pardon for me to look like a mess," her grandfather began as he politely took out his hand to shake.

"Why are you two filthy?" Rachel's mom asked, disgusted, crinkling her button nose.

"Do you really want to know what me and Rache have been up to?" he challenged her.

"Maybe dinner should be served," Mr. Dare suggested.

"Hold up. I want to answer Marcy's question," he said to his son and turned his attention back to his daughter-in-law. "Rachel and I went to the woods where I gave her a lecture on why the world is messed up. She seemed interested, and at that moment, I knew she was my own blood.

Afterwards, we went to advocate against a forest that was being threatened to be cut down. That's a shameful crime. Do you imagine how many animals depend on that forest? We held our picket signs up proudly and told those rubbish incorporate companies to go eat manure," he proudly said as he held up his fist high in a fist.

Mr. Dare was not one bit amused by his father's little speech since he glared angry daggers at him.

"Are you okay, son? You look like you ate the manure yourself," he joked.

"Poop is gross." Rachel shivered. "Gramps, remember when I fell into the pile of poop when I was younger when you took me to Ms. Chelsire's farm." It was a horrible experience that when she was 3, and Rachel ended up smelling like poop for a whole week.

"But you thought it was mud because you saw the piggies going into the pile." Her grandfather laughed.

"Harold, we're about to eat," Marcy scolded him.

"Then how do you think our food got food? That dung gave those vegetables nutrients."

"I'm sorry about this, Mr. Watson," Mr. Dare apologized.

"Watson? Where's Sherlock?" her grandfather joked. "Mr. Watson are you here with my boy to talk about business? Because I wouldn't be surprised since my boy hasn't gotten a friend over at his house for over ten years!"

Paul cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable with the situation. "Yes, we're in talks about being co-owners about a land down in the South."

"Where exactly in the South? Do you know what happened in the South? Bloodbaths happened down in the South that would boggle your appetite if I told you.

Rache, have I told you the story about the Civil War?"

"No," she said.

"Then remind me when I put you to bed tonight," he told her. He served himself a glass of wine and took a sip.

"Yuck!" he exclaimed. "I don't know how you rich people can drink this stuff. I've tasted other types of things that aren't that expensive and taste delicious—beer." He toyed with the wineglass as he swung the glass in a circular motion.

Paul looked at his silver Rolex watch and sighed. "I'm sorry, James, I have to go," he said in a fake unsympathetic voice.

"No, I insist you stay," James insisted, Rachel's dad.

"I must go." He stood up, as well as Marcy and James. Paul took out his hand to shake which James took with a firm grasp.

"You'll look at the papers I gave you, right?" For the first one in Rachel's life, he sounded unconfident and unsure.

Paul paused for a moment as he hesitated, and he said, "If co-owning seems like a good idea, but I can't guarantee it." To others, this seemed that Paul might consider the offer; in the business world, it meant that highly unlikely and don't keep your hopes up.

"Would you like to be walked to the front door?" James asked.

"No, I can walk the rest of the way. Goodbye, Mrs. Dare," Paul began and turned his attention to Harold and Rachel, "Goodbye, Rachel. Sir, I noticed that you didn't tell me your name."

"My first name is Harold, and my last name, unfortunately, is Dare," Harold introduced himself.

"I see no harm with carrying that name because your son has made a good name of it," said Paul.

"Yup, he dared to do the extreme."

"Nice meeting you," Paul said to him. "And have a good night," he told the others and left.

Once the front door of the house closed, James gave his father an angered look. "Do you know what you did?" he asked, infuriated and almost viciously.

"Was it some kind of forest or woods that you were plannin' to chop off the map of beautiful nature?" Harold plopped his feet on the table.

"Rachel, you can eat upstairs in your room," Marcy said.

"But you said I'm not allowed to eat in my room," Rachel said, confused on what her mother said.

"But this will be the only time," James said, his eyes never left his father's. "Norma, please serve my daughter food in her room," he ordered.

"Yes, Mr. Dare," Norma said in a heavy Spanish accent. Norma's stubby light-brown hands grabbed Rachel's pale one, and she took her upstairs.

Rachel's room was painted dark green, hand drawn portraits hung on the walls of Rachel and her grandfather that were drawn by her grandfather himself, a large queen sized bed with lavender color sheets, teddy bears on her bed, a large window that had a beautiful view of the estate, a medium sized TV, and a wall splattered with paint that showed paintings that she made and was very proud of.

She sat on her bed as she worried about her grandad. Is he in trouble? she wondered.

Soon after, Norma came with a plate of roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, and steamed green beans. "Eat little one," Norma said.

"Norma, porque—" she began to speak Spanish but was cut off.

"You can speak English to me this one time," Norma interrupted. Since Rachel was born, Norma always spoke in Spanish and almost never English; she understood Spanish very well, but she sometimes struggled speaking it since she only spoke Spanish to Norma.

"Norma, why is my granddad in trouble? Did he did something bad?"

"No, your daddy is just talking to him," she lied. "Eat your dinner. I'll be back in half an hour." With that, she exited the room, leaving Rachel with a hot plate of food.

She grabbed her fork and poked the chicken. Her fork pierced the chicken and then pulled the fork out. She concluded that she wasn't hungry, but rather worried.

Curiosity over came her and she slowly walked out of her bedroom, careful not to make a sound. As she slowly walked down the stairs, she heard arguing:

"Dad, why do you act this way around my guest?" James demanded.

"Your guests," Harold laughed, "or do you mean your bank accounts. The money you get is something that you earned, that I'm proud, but at what expense? Do you have any idea the amount of wildlife your killing for your own selfish purpose?"

"I'm trying to make a living for my family."

"Yes, I'm aware ,and because of that, you hardly spend time with your own daughter."

"Harold, James does—" Marcy began but was cut off by Harold.

"James does not spend enough time with her. Marcy, I know you spend time with Rachel, but don't you think she wants more than luxury? She's just a kid who would be happy even is she lived in a one bedroom apartment."

"What are you talking about, Dad? You hardly spent time with me when I was Rachel's age since you were too busy with your world peace strike during your hippie days."

"I did spend time with you, your mom spent time with you. We took you to the strikes when you were a kid."

"And you think I wanted that?"

"Yeah, since your eyes used to lit up when we spent time together."

"That's because they were rare," James said bitterly.

"Are you bitter? Why? Are you upset that I spend time with Rachel more?" Harold questioned.

"It's not that. You never approved when I wanted to get into business since you were still in your hippie stage, and I guess you still are. Gosh, you still drive the same car when I was a kid!"

"I'll have you know that that car was home for your mother and I, and we had to give up life in the car because we knew it wasn't a good place to raise a child. I'll have you know too that you were born in the front passenger seat of that car." He poked James' chest.

Rachel cringed. She made a mental note to never uncover the cover on the front passenger seat.

"James, even though you took business as a profession, I supported you. I didn't accept it, still don't, but I supported you.

I know some things I could've done better, but no father is perfect and you should know that."

"So your making it up with Rachel?"

"No, I want to show her different perspective in life. You remember how bad you were bullied in school when you were such a nerd in math? I want to show her that it is fine to be different as long as she stays on the path she wants to stay on.

Plus, I'm doing this for your mother. Don't you see your mother in Rachel? She has the same shade of red hair, the same green eyes, and same skin complexion. Your mother wanted me to be the best grandad I could be and help guide her through life. That's why I stay and put up with this. I do it for your mother and for Rachel. Rachel is my pride and joy, and I know she'll do great things in life." Harold's eyes began to swell with tears as he thought about his wife who died from lung cancer two months before Rachel was born.

"But that doesn't make up the excuse that she came back home dirty."

"What? You want her to wear plastic over her when she goes in the woods?"

"It isn't lady-like," Marcy began, "she must become an educated young lady."

"No, my granddaughter will not become one of those girls that squeal when they have a stain on their little Chanel dresses," he stubbornly said. Just the image of Rachel dressed very formal and unhappy made his blood boil. "She shows an interest in the arts and helping others. Yeah, I bet she'll put up the fancy dress for a day or two, but the inner wild child will come out because it shall be set free!"

"Dad, I know what I think is best for my daughter, and she will be taught to behave more properly," James said.

"That's why the world is like it is. People are too stubborn, not the good kind, and that's why wars starts. I really hope Rachel keeps her mind on the prize which is freedom to be what she her heart wants. If she wants to advocate against forests being cut down or help charities, why change that? She's doing a good deed anyways."

"She can do that, but in a more high standard way," Marcy reasoned.

"I'm done," Harold surrendered. He grabbed his thermo of ice tea and took a sip. "Go with the flow Rachel, but keep in mind to do what you want to achieve in mind, even if your parents hate it," he muttered to himself while he didn't noticed Rachel who sat on the stairs and walked past her, slamming the front door of the mansion.

* * *

Thirteen-year-old Rachel sat on her chair as she painted a basket of fruits before her. She was in a beige colored room where her other projects of paintings hung, designs of future pickets signs, pictures of children she helped raised money that was donated to keep the art programs running at school that were low funded by the state.

This room was her home away from home. This room was where she expressed herself. She wept in this room when her parents used to heavily scold her about behaving more lady-like when she was younger. She expressed creativity that had the tendency to flourish wildly at times.

"What's my Wildflower doing?" her grandfather said as he entered the room; he sounded horsed which made her heart break.

"I'm painting the basket with fruits, but I'm having trouble with shading because I can't picture the way the light is coming from," Rachel told him, her eyes never left the painting. Ever since her grandfather was diagnosed with lung cancer stage 4, she spend a lot of her time with her grandfather because the doctor said he had approximately a year of life; that's if he took his medication and attended all his therapy treatments; thankfully, he passed the year that the doctor thought would be his life expand left.

"Let's see what you did so far." He slowly walked towards Rachel in a sluggish pace and took the stool that Rachel got off of. He got out his thin-framed glasses, put them on, and examined Rachel's painting. "It's well painted, but it's the shading. Look at the real basket, and tell me, do you see any dark spots?"

She approached the real basket and saw the pile of red apples, bananas, and purple grapes. In between an apple and a banana, she saw a small gap that was dark. "In the middle of that banana and apple," she said, pointing at the two fruits.

"So grab that black paint and start shading," he instructed.

Rachel grabbed herself a stool from the corner of the room and sat next to her grandad. Her fingertips grabbed her paintbrush and a small can of black paint from the floor. The tip of the paintbrush was dipped into the black paint, and Rachel saw the happy smile on her grandad.

An idea popped in her mind and she grabbed another paintbrush and held it out for him to take. "Finish the painting with me, please," she pleaded him, smiling.

Harold looked at the paintbrush his granddaughter offered and smiled. Time flew by and the more time he spent with Rachel, the more she reminded him of Elizabeth, his wife; but Rachel had her own twist that made her different from Elizabeth.

"That would be an honor, Ms. Dare," he said, accepting the paintbrush.

His heart broke because he didn't knew what was in store for his granddaughter, but he knew she was destined for great things. He didn't consider her his granddaughter anymore, he considered her as his own daughter, and he was mighty proud of it.

* * *

James saw from the door way, his dad and Rachel happily painting a painting together. His heart broke.

He and his dad have always been different. Harold was always a free-spirited; James was always in line.

He secretly regretted not spending that much time with him, before Harold was diagnosed with lung cancer. He regretted those heated arguments they used to have because those were memories he didn't want to have of his father.

Seeing his dad and Rachel, together, reminded him of his dad and his mother together. He remembered how passionate his mother was with paintings and helping out in the community.

Seeing Rachel, who took interest in the arts, made him sad and angered at the same time. He was sad because it was going to be a constant reminder of his mother; he was angered because it would remind him of the special bond that Rachel will always have with his father.

She inherited his father's intense love for nature. He knew she hated what he did, but she had to understand that that was his job. He did all for her because he wanted to give her what he didn't have when growing up. With that intense love came a mean attitude that seemed like she was punching you with words when she defended it, just like his dad.

His father was willing to walk down the street naked to protect a forest, the image itself terrified him.

Rachel was a combination of both his father and mother. He sometimes wondered if it was a blessing or a punishment for how in un-accepting he was of his parents.

He wasn't sure and probably was never going to be.

A small sigh escaped his thin lips, and he slowly walked away, careful not to make any sound.

* * *

Rachel stood with a bouquet of wildflowers in her hand as she stared at the white door to her grandfather's hospital room.

The hospital looked dull and lifeless with its sick people being taken to rooms and loud cries that were occasionally heard throughout the hospital.

She took a deep breath and walked inside the room where she saw her grandfather hooked up on many machines that she had no knowledge on operating. "Hey," she quietly greeted, lightly closing the door behind her. He gave no response, but instead, a small wave and a happy glint in his eyes.

"Where are Mom and Dad?" she asked him. She saw a white vase at the white nightstand next to the bed, so she grabbed it and placed her flowers there. She knew she should've called them to say that she was going to stay the whole night with him, but she supposed they knew where she was.

"They came by a while ago," he said. His voice sounded very horsed and very weak that Rachel wanted to cry.

She grabbed a white chair and took his now translucent hand. "I went to a fundraising fair that helped to raise money for children that are in hunger," she began, stroking the hand with her thumb, "but while I was there, I thought of you and how you would give me a speech on how people can help each other to prevent hunger.

There's this board meeting that I'll attend next week that'll talk about public school's budget, and I want to make sure that the art programs are included." Her green eyes met her grandad's aqua ones, and she laughed from how his eyes still displayed that hopeful twinkle that she remembered seeing as a little girl.

"I'm proud of you," he said, giving her hand a small squeeze.

"I know. You should've seen the fit my dad had last week when he found me covered in body paint."

He chuckled. "Not happy," he said.

"Yup."

"Love you, Wildflower." Tears formed in his eyes aqua-like eyes from how immensely proud he was of his granddaughter, not that she was doing things that he would've done, but she was doing things that she believed in, not caring if her parents approved or not.

He remembered how he watched a small infant that flourished to a beautiful young woman before him. He remembered being there when Rachel took her first steps, her first words, holding her hand on the first day of school and throughout her kindergarten year, being brought on career day with James, watching her walk on stage when she graduated kindergarten, and other precious memories that he held dearly to his now weak heart.

"I love you too," she said as tears cascaded down from her eyes and to the floor. She slightly stood up and kissed her grandfather's forehead. "I love you more than you will ever know." She brought his hand to her lips and placed a kiss. "I love you, Gramps."

"I know, I know you do."

Rachel remained in the white chair with her grandfather, holding his hand, the entire night as they both waited for death to call his grandfather. She sang to him songs from John Lennon like "Imagine" and songs from the Beatles like "Here Comes the Sun" and "Hello Goodbye", to share a last laugh together. She recounted tales of their past adventures and how much they used to talk about adventure that they hoped on doing together, the ones that'll never be done together.

He stayed awake the whole night with Rachel. He wanted his little wildflower to be the last thing he heard and saw before he left the world.

"Check room," he said, being the last two words he ever said.

At 9 in the morning, he closed his eyes, never opening them again.

* * *

She was dressed in black, feeling very alone and depressed.

"It's going to be okay, Rache," her father told her. He opened his strong arms for her as she wept on them. They stood in front of Harold's casket, ready to be placed in the ground. Rachel decorated his casket with stickers of his favorite rock band of all time: The Beatles; other stickers were adhesive to the casket like the peace sign, and flowers.

"No, it will never be the same." She wept. Rachel finally pulled away from her father and grabbed his bouquet of roses. "Dad, he loved wildflowers."

James shrugged and said, "I know, but roses were the first type of flower that he lectured me about and their uses."

"What kind of uses?"

"Maybe another day," he sadly said, not wanting to speak about his past lectures by his father.

With her bouquet of wildflowers and her father's bouquet, she laid them on the casket.

"I hope to see you soon," she whispered, placing her cool hand on the casket.

* * *

Rachel frantically walked around her room as she gathered her things that she was going to pack. She and her parents were moving to a home in Manhattan because her father had business there, and the memory of her grandfather was still fresh in her mind.

She never knew what her grandfather actually meant when he told her to check a room. She search in the art room but found nothing, and she checked her room but found nothing too.

She made sure that all her paintbrushes, drawing pads, markers, and other art utensils were neatly packed first. Now, she dismembered her bed and when she lifted her pillows she saw an old drawing pad.

She lifted the old beat up drawing pad that was brown on the cover with many folds, and the sheets inside were uneven and some were yellowed. She opened the front cover of the book and saw neat handwriting that said, 'Momentos.' Her fingers flipped the page to the next one and laid eyes on a portrait of a small baby with rusty red hair, and a blue blanket that covered its small body. She quickly skimmed through the pages and saw portraits of a small boy sleeping on the grass and a small painting of a beautiful woman with fiery red hair, tea-green eyes, and pale skin sprinkled with small freckles on her cheekbones. "She looks better than Venus," Rachel said in awe. She continued skimming through the drawing pad and was amazed with its abundance of painting, sketches, calligraphy, and drawings. It was then when she finally came across a portrait of a young Rachel. Young Rachel looked dirty with her dirty white shirt and army styled cargo pants. A small smile appeared on her lips because she remembered that say: the day when her grandfather took her to her first strike and talked about the world. At the top right corner of the portrait was the name Wildflower hand printed in neat cursive.

This is what he meant, she thought.

Then a paper came out of the pad, and Rachel picked it up. It read:

_Dear Wildflower,_

_If your reading this, that meant you found my old beat up drawing pad. I've had the pad with me ever since your father was born. I've drawn my life on that notebook._

_In the back of my mind, I knew I should've given it to your father, but the drawing pad would have soon been long forgotten, so I gave it to you._

_Finally, stay on the road you chose to take. On your journey so far, it was going rough but wait for the future where bigger, better, things will happen._

_Love you,_

_Grampy_

Rachel smiled. She folded the letter and placed it back into the drawing pad, making mental plans to place it in her bag that she would personally take to Manhattan.

* * *

Rachel slammed the white painted door behind her. "Mom!" she shouted. "Where are my cans of paint that I bought like two day ago?"

She looked around and saw no one. She saw the Australian hardwood floors, white painted walls with portraits of sails, and white stairs steps with a burgundy color rug draped on it. She walked to her left, to the living room, and only saw the butterscotch leather recliners, white fur rug, dark brown carpet, and the black plasma TV that hung on top of the chimney made of bricks. She took a quick look in the kitchen, the bar room, the game lounge, the theater, and then decided to head to the backyard; she highly doubted that her parents were in the backyard, but it was worth a try.

She stepped onto the American cherry wood patio at the back of the home. The patio was large that could accommodate about 15 guests, a round table made of metal was set out with a large red umbrella attached to it, and a stainless steel grill.

The backyard was massive with its green grass, a large pool with small pipes that squirted water and white beach chairs, and a white large picket fence that had bushes of different varieties of flowers: roses, daises, orchids, lavenders, etc.

But the patio was occupied by her parents and two guests. One of the guest was a man with sandy blonde hair, hazel eyes, a strong jawline, and thin lip; he had on a white short-sleeved, buttoned down shirt, and rainbow striped shorts. The other guest was a woman with light brown hair, green eyes, cream skin, and medium-thick lips; she wore a bright yellow two-piece swim suit under a see-through light brown dress. Her mom wore a cherry red two-piece under a white see-through sundress. Her father wore navy blue swim shorts, and was shirtless as he worked the grill.

"Dad, do you even know how to work a grill?" she asked, sounding harsh but not on purpose. James jumped, startled, and turned to face her.

"Of course," he said.

Give the man an Oscar already for his lies, she thought. "Your such a bad lier," she said as she walked over to him and helped him with flipping the burgers.

"Why are you dressed like that?" he demanded in an hushed tone.

She crinkled her eyebrows together and looked at her clothes that consisted slightly baggy blue jeans with splashed paint on them and holes that she made when she was bored, an oversized white t-shirt that was tied in the back by a rubber band, and her frizzy red hair was tied in a messy bun. "I don't see nothing wrong with it," she defended.

"That's not lady-like."

"Says the guy that's wearing swim trunks. Did you know that men of high social status would wear speedos when they went to the pool? Do you prefer medium or large speedos?" she innocently asked, flipping a meat patty with her spatula.

"Don't speak to me like that," he warned. "Go upstairs and change into something proper."

Rachel ignored him and filled a plate of meat patties and left him. "Hello," she greeted the guests.

"Hello, my name is Veronica," Veronica said, shaking hands with Rachel's.

"Nice to meet you," she said.

"Hello, my name is Robert," Robert said, shaking her hand as well.

"What's the property my dad is trying to drag you guys in?" she blurted out. She grabbed sesame buns and placed the meat patty between the two buns, and she handed one to Robert and Veronica.

They laughed. "It's a reservation camp for koalas that can't be funded anymore so they are selling the place," Robert said.

"Is it the one where there's a natural reservation? That's horrible. There are many animals living there."

"Oh," Veronica said.

"Rachel," her mother said in a stern voice, "why don't you help your father?" she suggested.

"Dad said he can handle the grill. I hope he doesn't burn the place down," she said to her mother. "Have you ever considered helping funding the reservation camp? Of course, you don't have to make it a money pit, but have you considered making it a spot where zoologist can study the koalas, and if your consider bringing in other animals, for a nice price."

Veronica's eyes popped open. "We haven't thought of that right, Robert." She touched her husband's arm.

"I'm back," James said, taking a seat with a bowl of salad. "Did I miss anything?"

Marcy laughed, covering her mouth. "Darling, Rachel came up with the silly idea on funding the koala reservation camp and turn it into a place where zoologists can visit."

"But, Marcy, it isn't a bad idea," Veronica defended.

"Think of it this way," Rachel told Veronica and Robert, "the koalas will still have their homes, and if you took away the camp, they'll go to an overcrowded zoo where they won't get the proper attention that they deserve."

"You prove a good point," Robert admitted.

"The koalas won't go to overcrowded zoos because we'll make sure they'll go to a good zoo where it is not overcrowded," James said.

"Actually, James, Veronica and I are interested in what your daughter said and it is highly unlikely that we won't consider the offer of cutting the camp down," said Robert.

"What?" he asked, outraged that his business was stolen by his own daughter.

"Can we talk plans on conserving the koala camp?" Veronica asked.

"Rachel, can you get me glasses to drink from the kitchen?" Marcy asked.

"Yeah," she said, standing up.

"I'll help you look for them because your mother has the tendency to misplace them sometimes," James said, standing up as well.

This is not good, she thought.

"No need for that," she insisted, backing away from him.

"No, I want to help you." He grabbed her shoulder and directed her inside. He closed the glass door from the patio and said, "You just costed me a million dollars on a project," he hissed.

"Don't you feel bad killing the trees that help us survive? If you kill all the trees in the world, we won't be able to live no longer than 3 years."

"Who said I was going to kill all the trees?" He pointed his index finger at her. The veins from his neck bulged from how irate he became.

"That's the plan right: Operation Muerta?"

"Rachel, I will allow this no more. You have killed a lot of my business lately and that is no longer humorous. You didn't get in my business, but it was…Dad who did that," James said, a saddened tone at the end of his sentence.

"Gramps stood up for what he believed in, and I believe that you should stop killing trees and the animal that depend on it."

"Leave," he ordered. The images of his father came to his mind, and the memory was still painful and fresh as the day he died. "At least listen to me this time since you refused to listen to your mother when she told you to go get dressed."

"Why is it such a big deal to dress more proper? If I'm happy, doesn't that count? I prefer dressing like this because I feel happy, I don't get why you guys want to change that?

If I dress sloppy, you or mom give me a lecture that I'm not supposed to dress like that. If I occasionally burp, I still get a me lecture, and I get that even if I already said excuse me.

I know I ain't perfect. I know I don't like the hottest trend on the Gucci runway. I like art, but you hate that. I love nature, but you hate it when I speak about it.

Can't I get any acceptance around here?

Gramps would never make me feel this way. Gramps would say that I'm fine who I am, you know why? He would say that he loves me unconditionally." With that, she walked out of the house, ignoring her father's pleads to stay and listen to him.

She got inside the black limo and her driver, Tom, asked, "Is everything okay, Ms. Dare?" from the rear mirror. Tom was an African-American who had dark skin, and wore a black suit, even though it was hot outside.

"Yeah," she mumbled. Her hands covered her face as she reflected on what she told her father.

She knew she was right about the lecturing when she acted out of the lady-like rules. She knew she was right about what her grandfather would say to her. But, she felt horrible on what she told her dad and felt like a spoiled brat, and when in reality, she was no where near spoiled.

"Where should I take you?" Tom asked.

Rachel removed her hands from her face and saw a magazine with the name 'Hoover Dam' on the front cover. "Can we go to Hoover Dam?" she asked, lifting the magazine.

"Of course." Tom started the car and off they went.

She sighed, leaning her head against the car's wall.

_It's okay to let the inner weirdo out, _she thought of her grandfather's words. She laughed.

"Love you, Gramps," she said to herself.

Rachel could've sworn she heard the words, "Love you, Wildflower." She blinked back tears.

She hoped that a day of acceptance would come from she parents, but she knew it wasn't going to happen anytime soon.

* * *

**This is a LONG one-shot, because I took my time with it and enjoyed the process of it. Rachel is my favorite character from PJO, so please be nice.  
**

**I hope you liked it because it took me like 2 weeks and a half to complete it; I also became teary eye when I wrote the hospital scene. **

**I wrote this because not a lot is known about her background, so I decided to bring her character more to life.**

**You should listen to the Beatles song, "Here Comes the Sun", and the John Lennon song, "Imagine", because I didn't wrote the songs in this story for the heck of it; they have a message. If you didn't understand how I interpreted "Here Come the Sun" in this story, I thought of it as death because sun is light and when people are dying they see the 'light'. **

**Sorry if you cried in any parts of the story. Review.:)**


End file.
